Draco Comes Clean
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Draco shares his bathing philosophy. The Malfoys come clean together. Narco smut. Enjoy.


Draco Comes Clean

Baths are stupid. Who wants to waste an hour of precious time soaking in a pool of their own filth? No matter how much you rinse, really, the soap never goes away. Just sort of floats there on the surface of the water.

Not to mention it starts out hot enough, but it cools off at an alarming and inconvenient rate. So if you want the water hot again, you have to run more water. Or constantly charm it. Which means having your wand in the bath with you. Which is just...weird.

My mum loves baths. For her, a bath is a serious thing. A sort of sacred thing. It has to be perfect. And uninterrupted. There's this very delicate balance. If something goes wrong, she will lose her gob. It's a bit like a quidditch play-off. Well planned, but still subject to unpredictability and possible violence.

As a child, I interrupted her bath once.

Once.

I remember only blackness.

Anyway. Point is, baths are stupid. Or for witches. I prefer the shower. It's faster, freeing me up for more important things like riding your new broom, drinking a nice firewhiskey, or listening to some solicitor or another blather on endlessly about your finances. And perhaps not all of those things are considered fun, but they're still more exciting than taking a bath.

Stays nice and hot, too. No warming charms required. And the water doesn't go all stagnant with the day's filth and a layer of grimy soap. Also (not that it's really anyone's business), but it's rather convenient for a wank. No mess to scourgify off the sheets or drip down the back of your hand onto your trouser leg while you dance around like a nunce looking for a flannel with your tadger clanging against your leg.

Showers are poised. Dignified. No surprises, no need for violent reactions.

So you can imagine my surprise when I stepped out of my shower the other day to find… a surprise. My mother, to be exact. And she looked surprised, as well.

More specifically, she was making that face that she makes when she spies a particularly appealing pair of shoes. Eyes wide and rather glassy, lips parted in an 'o' shape. It's a singular expression of awakening lust. I followed her gaze to my crotch.

My crotch.

My _mother_ was staring at _my cock_ as if she wanted to _have _it.

Here opens a complicated box of issues. Pandora herself would be intimidated. You see, I wasn't exactly _appalled _to find my mother staring at my cock. Rather to the contrary, I'd just abused it quite thoroughly while thinking of her in my shower. (Convenient, that, by the way, as I believe I mentioned earlier.)

She stood there wearing her shoe face, holding an armload of towels, and staring at my cock. Honestly, I only wish it had been a bit...harder. I felt we put on a quite poor showing. You know. Could have been better.

But she was still staring.

I felt it best to address the issue outright. Never been one for pussy footing about, so to speak. I grinned at her. "Were you just -"

I didn't finish my question because my mother popped away like the bloody house elf. Her load of linens dropped to the floor with a heavy plop, and she apparated out of my lavatory.

I stood staring stupidly at the place where she'd stood, watched thick terry towels settle on my pristine marble tile. My grin grew. My mother had just apparated out of my presence. I looked down at my cock, which had decided to put forth an impressive effort under lovely witch eyes, and nodded. "Good work."

I decided to give her some space. Obviously, she'd not wanted to chat.

I know my mother. Other than being a scaldingly beautiful woman, she's a stoic and extraordinarily private witch. I watched her stare at my father's coffin with a face of stone, chiseled softly like a Greek statue. No tears. Not even a lip quiver.

Not that this was terribly unexpected. Gods, my father had been a right git in life. I doubt she felt much loss to grieve. In fact, the way she set about re-decorating the manor, I suspect she might have been relieved.

I know I was.

Like I said, no pussy footing about.

The only times I've ever seen my mother break her facade have each involved me. Yours truly. Her son. She's spoiled and protected me all my life, you see. Not in the traditional sense that muggle mothers coddle their snot-nosed offspring, but in an essential magical sense. She lied to the Dark Lord's face, after all. And I once watched her threaten the life of the Chosen One himself, Harry Potter, after he'd threatened me.

She's bloody brilliant.

I can't pinpoint the moment I fell in lust with her, but I can admit that I did.

So I gave her that evening to herself. She didn't come to the dining room, so I ate in quiet introspection. Pushing broccoli florets around like my thoughts. I outlined our entire encounter in my mind. It was perfect, and went like this:

"_Mother. I'd like to talk about what happened in my shower earlier."_

"_Yes, Draco."_

"_You were clearly studying my manly bits."_

"_I won't deny that."_

"_I don't want you to be ashamed, Narcissa." (I like calling her Narcissa in my head. It's dead sexy.) "I think we've both had similar thoughts of each other. Am I right?"_

"_Oh, Draco…" Here her chin wobbles and her blue eyes go all watery and she flings herself into my waiting arms. "Yes! It's true!"_

_Then we start snogging like mad. I grope her lovely tits. (I know they're lovely. I've never seen them, but they can't not be lovely.) She lets me undress her, only resists a little when I'm tugging at her lacy little knickers. (I love lacy knickers.) "Draco, no!" She gasps. But her gasps change when my tongue hits her cunt, which tastes like spice cake, and -_

"Fuck." I pushed quickly away from the table and made way to my room. Yes, I'd had a go in the shower, but I needed another. This time, without the shower's convenience, I had a feeling I would be scourgifying the sheets.

I slept well. I usually do. Since Voldemort kicked it, and Death Eaters were flushed out of the house, I've had quite the peaceful existence. And I've enjoyed it. We deserve this, mum and I. We put in our time with the darkness, and now - like the gauzy draperies she'd installed - it was time to let in a little light.

I stretched. Scratched. (Why does my bum always itch in the mornings? Mysteries.) I rather liked that thought about letting the light in. It was poetic. Pure poesy. "Yeah, it's good," I murmured to myself.

I stepped into a pair of comfy pyjamas and decided I would use the poesy on my mum. It would be even better than what I'd imagined. Witches love poetry. And symbolism! The light would symbolise...well...incest, I guessed.

As in, we should let the incest in. I yawned and nodded as I cinched my dressing gown. It was genius. She wouldn't be able to argue my sense or my brilliance. I wondered if she would be at breakfast.

But as I passed her rooms, it appeared she would not. Her door was closed and I could tell she'd not stirred. I knew though, that she wasn't sleeping. So I knocked.

_knock knock knock _"Mum?"

There was no answer. I smiled gently, pressed my forehead to her door. I could picture her quite clearly inside, those deep blue eyes wide with worry, teeth biting bottom lip, knees drawn to chin in her feather duvet.

Fine. I put a hand against her door, wishing I could somehow transmit my hope to her: that she would not shut me out entirely. Well wishes wished, I made my way to a no doubt solitary breakfast. It would be a hurried morning. I had a solicitor's visit to prepare for. Thank the gods for quick showers.

I despise solicitors. I think I was born despising solicitors. And our new solicitor - a wizard as old as time immemorial - was no exception. He droned on at length about… Well, in all honesty I haven't a clue what he droned about. I checked out halfway through, staring out the window of my dead father's study at the grounds stretching wide.

I signed some things. I yawned a great deal. When the infernal old man finally began to pack away parchments, I leapt at the prospect of 'over.' Unfortunately, I was premature.

"I'd like to take a look at the grounds." He announced annoyingly. "To see how well damages incurred during the...late unpleasantness have improved."

I sighed deeply. "Of course." Truthfully, I looked forward to a stroll, and was rather proud of the work my mother and I had put into the manor and grounds. It was beginning to look like it had never been a haven for drooling Death Eaters, a mad aunt and a noseless psychopath with an incontinent python of mythic proportions.

So we set out. Across the back lawn. Past the greening hedge maze. Through the rose river. "You can see my mother's influence here," I said. "She's quite talented with roses. And orchids. In fact, I think I'd like to enclose another large portion of the east gardens for her to nurse flowers. And perhaps a big stone fountain. One of those with the little pissing cupid or some such rot. And some benches. I think we need garden parties in the summers."

We were entering the greenhouse. The solicitor was nodding. He may have been napping… "So that's my idea for the gardens. How much do you think it will cost?" I was curious. Never really gardened before. But I was a man of vision.

"Shouldn't be too much," the solicitor replied. "Not enough for you to notice, anyway."

I liked the sound of that. _SNAP _ The solicitor and I both froze, glancing about the greenhouse. It could only be "Mother?" I called.

A bustle of activity near the door caught my eye. Behind the enormous leaves of an elephant ear plant, my mother arose. I blinked. There was a bit of detritus clinging to her longish fringe, and a high pink in her cheeks. Was she… "Were you hiding?"

She was picking at the damnable plant as if she'd been pruning it all along. A ridiculous farce. I couldn't hide a grin.

"I most certainly was not." This was her no-nonsense tone, despite the fact it was complete rubbish. "I was pruning."

"Pruning."

"Pruning!" She repeated impatiently. I could tell she was embarrassed, compounded by the presence of our ancient solicitor.

"Well." I took pity on her. Rocked on my heels and stuffed hands in pockets. "We'll leave you to your pruning then." I gestured the solicitor toward the door, but couldn't resist pausing to give her a wink.

"Would you just go?" She hissed.

I checked that the solicitor was out the door before giving her my own version of stern expression. "We need to talk," I insisted.

"No we don't!" She looked and sounded remarkably petulant. I felt a sudden and not quite remarkable urge to spank her.

But that was quite impossible. Or at least at the moment it was. So I raised a finger in threat/promise. "I'll be back." Even I thought I sounded a bit of a twat. She scowled at me. I hurried the solicitor back to the manor, trying to discretely adjust my now uncomfortable erection.

Infuriating witch! I walked the solicitor to the end of our walkway. He blathered on still about… Fuck, I don't know. I shook his hand for about five solid minutes and smiled painfully until he finally apparated away. In the wake of the wizarding geriatric's departure, I too apparated.

Right back to the greenhouse. If she could do it, I could, too. I crashed through the door intent on fu - talking to the witch. "Mum! You've really been quite…" I sighed heavily again. She'd gone. Left me railing at her bloody plants. Their weird flowery faces seemed to laugh at me. I turned to the door in a huff. Looked back only once at the foliage. "Shut up," I growled.

Back at the manor I brooded. I was good at brooding. Understood the art to it. You have to dress

in all black. Pick a black chair, and the darkest room in your house. Sit in the chair with your back to the window as though you could shun the day and it would feel your rejection. Stare at something across the room. I chose a crystal decanter. It was empty, and I let its emptiness fuel my own emptiness. More symbolism.

I steepled my fingers beneath my chin and thought of my mother. It was wrong, yes, to want her sexually. But when had my family ever been quite...right? I glanced sideways at a portrait of my long dead great grandfather whose oil painted hand stroked a decapitated dog. The tail wagged. Who knew where its head was. But my point was made.

And I'd heard the tales. "Oh, your mad Aunt Calisto slept with her brother your insane Uncle Geoffop and your cousin Maranga once fucked her sister right to death and hid the body in an enormous gelatin blah blah blah…" The incest gene was definitely there. Shining like a bright beacon of...bad.

In fact, I contemplated how my mother and myself might just be nearing normal in comparison to the other deviant members of our family. Plus (I glanced about at a few more paintings), we were a damn sight better looking.

I brooded a little more. Picked at a loose string on my jacket. I tugged the string spitefully because mother would hate it, then felt a stab of guilt. "Mother," I nearly sobbed.

My stomach growled. I'd been brooding long enough. I wanted a roast chicken. "Elf!" It had a name, but who could be arsed? They were all the same. Stupid poncey nomers like "Bippy" and "Stinky" and "Fucko." I chuckled. Rather liked Fucko…

The elf appeared and I ordered a chicken. "I'll take it in the dining room."

"Yes, master sir." The elf bowed in that ingratiating way that made me want to irrationally kick them.

"Thank you, Fucko." I waved it away. Resumed a few minutes more brooding. Would the bint come to sup with me? Doubtful. And if she didn't? My brooding eyes became slits. I imagine I looked quite menacing. Then perhaps drastic measures would be in order.

My chicken was fantastic. I ate all of the crunchy skin off of it because mother wasn't there to reprimand me or look culinary rebellion was rewarding, indeed.

Also I ate not. One. Vegetable. Not one! Take that, mother! I shook my fist at the ceiling. Knew she was up there somewhere.

Probably brooding herself. And probably all wrongly.

Thinking of mother… I looked up reluctantly at the nearly life-sized portrait of her. I alternately hated and loved the painting. Right now in particular it was giving me fits. Her coy eyes stared down at me as if to say, 'Mind your manners, daaaahling.' As if to say, 'Bugger off, mum,' I sucked loudly my greasy index finger.

Gods, she was beautiful, though. I studied the painting. Took in details I'd never really noticed before. (Wasn't as if I could ogle it with her sitting beside me blathering on about which fork to use.) The curve of her shoulder. The softness of the skin where jaw met neck. Her paleness. It was the color of sweet cream. I wondered if it tasted like sweet cream.

Mmmm. Sweet cream… I gave the painting a subtle wink. I would have my sweet cream. And furthermore, "I _will _have you, Narcissa."

I was considering dessert and creative sexual positions when I heard the tell-tale grinding whine of ages old water pipes. I froze. It was suddenly crystal clear what my mother was doing.

She was bathing.

I tapped my fingers on highly lacquered tabletop. I could see it as if I was there. Her carefully cast wards. Those mint and lavendar candles flickering around the deep garden tub. Her hair piled messily atop her head. Her heavenly pale body sliding slowly beneath a thin layer of frothy white milk bubbles. Glistening knees protruding from the drink.

I salivated. Understanding the term 'drink' too completely.

Yes, if it tasted even remotely like her - the forbidden, godforsaken, volcanic and galvanising essence of her - I would drink the witch's bath water.

Decision fell. So be it. If the conversation was going to be had, it would be on my terms. And the only way I could corner her successfully would be during her good long soak.

Her quarters were not warded, surprisingly. But the lavatory was. No surprise. I took my time undressing, and even folded my clothes neatly over her dressing screen. My wand was in my hand and - Malfoy magic minding - I slipped subtly through those wards and quietly through the door.

If she'd felt the tingle she didn't show it. Perhaps she'd dismissed it, or perhaps the heavy heat in the room had addled her brain, which could work well in my favour. But my bare feet were not quiet on the slick floor, and she fired up in the bath.

"What…" the warm cloth that had covered her eyes was a poor modesty on her chest and I had my first glimpse of naked Narcissa bosom. It was wet and glorious, flushed a light pink warm, softened nipples. "Draco!" She spluttered. "You...what are you -"

"I said we needed to talk." I shrugged. Set my wand on the overlarge bath stand nearby. "So we are going to talk."

She'd managed to raise a full bluster. "Get _out_!" She pointed fruitlessly to the door, still clutching that ridiculous tiny flannel to her chest. Her eyes were manic as they followed me and wide as French doors.

My toe tested the water. It was blazing hot. But so was I. So I stepped in, enjoying her squeaky scramble. "Are you suicidal?" She asked, eyes daggers.

"I'm joining you for a soak," I explained calmly. "Aaaah, that feels ace, Narcissa. Oops!" My bum settled on a bar of soap and I dislodged it with a grin. "Dangerous, that."

"Draco." Her legs were drawn up to her breasts, attempting to avoid mine which were considerably longer. "We are not doing this now. Or here!"

But she was looking. And she had looked again. I'd seen it. And I saw fit to point it out. "You must see something you like when you look at me. Like you looked at me in my shower yesterday. Hm?" She seethed in response. Even the heat of her bath could not deflate the tumescence between my legs this time. I gestured to her.

"I like what I see when I look at you, mother." Honesty. Forwardness. No pussy footing. "See? I've made my confession. Simple. And now it's your turn."

I watched her pretty mouth work. Felt compassion for this woman who'd birthed me and now struggled with with wanting me. But compassion could not erase what I saw on her face. And I think she knew that.

"I…" She started. I understood her struggle. "How could I not like what I see, my dragon? I made you."

I felt my eyes soften. My smirk became smile. She seemed to be considering, and I could see she needed some gentling into this. I stroked her calf. But far from being gentled, she jumped like a lamb."Relax," I soothed, straightening her leg. I extended a hand, and when she took it, I pulled.

"Draco!" My hard cock pressed against her hot cunt and I felt a surge of pleasure in my spine.

"Yes, Narcissa," I growled in her ear. It was a question and an answer. I attacked her neck with my mouth.

"Not here," she gasped. "Not in my bath!"

_Is she serious? _I was near the point of no return, nearly slipping inside her tightness. "Can I just put the tip in?" I sounded ridiculous even to myself, but that is what such desperation does to a man.

She halted activities abruptly. Pushed back and gave me a look McGonagall would have envied. "If you have _any _real designs on continuing this right now, you should probably learn how to speak to me."

_Damn. _My eagerness had gotten the best of me, and now the nymph was slipping from my grip and standing. The brought me eye-level with her luscious cunt, and my mouth watered. I wasn't sure exactly how she wanted me to speak to her, but I knew how to speak my mind. "I would love for you to sit on my face."

"Much better," she said happily. She stepped out of the tub and made way to the bathroom wardrobe. My eyes followed her every move as she retrieved two towels. She held one out to me. "Are you coming?"

"Not yet," I mumbled. Nearly fell out of the tub like a nunce as I hurried toward her. She thrust a towel into my empty arms and made her way leisurely into her bedroom, as if we had all bloody night. Although, I suppose, technically we did. I'll confess I liked watching the sway of her arse.

So much so that I couldn't resist tossing the towel in favour of scooping her into my arms. She chuckled and turned. Gave me a small, teasing kiss. I let her feel my hard gift pressing her belly. "Lie down," she instructed. "On your back."

I scrambled onto the bed and lay back. It was a comfortable bed, and big. With too many pillows. I tried to appear relaxed. Folded my arms behind my head. In actuality, I was close to exploding.

She was no help. She straddled my thighs, licking her sinful lips. When she leaned to my ear, she whispered, "You were conceived in this bed, you know."

And now I would be condemned in this bed, it seemed. "Was I?" She rubbed her dripping core against my throb. I whimpered. Wanted her more than I'd wanted anything in this life. She was a sweet kisser. Too sweet. I wondered what else was sweet. Tucking my hands beneath her arse, I pulled her up my body. "I want to taste you, mum."

she settled nicely over my face, a perfect fit, and I wasted no time diving in. Iron and acid. She tasted of what I imagined was sin. But I couldn't get enough. I licked with no real knowledge, but desire is a perfect professor and soon she was panting lust above me, grinding against my chin. She made it difficult to focus on the recalcitrant nubbin that made her quake, but somehow I managed.

"Make me cum, baby," she groaned. "Oh, sweet goddess...Right there!"

I had no intentions of stopping. "Mmhmmm."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, darling."

I smirked. Even on the brink of orgasm - clutching and twisting her own tits like the wicked witch she was - she could tell me to mind my manners. I vowed to break _her_ manners soon enough; to have her cursing, screaming and begging for pleasure.

Orgasm - the witch's orgasm - is an atrocious thing to witness, really. It's as if her cunt transforms into some hungry beast, clutching and sucking at whatever has penetrated it (in this case my fingers and tongue). Her body contorts like...like a contortionist's, or a person in the grip of demon possession. And she doesn't give a damn about how her thighs are literally squeezing your head as though it was a ripe melon.

It's insane. Bloody gorgeous.

I did that.

Perhaps she needed a moment afterward to collect herself. I didn't really ask. Just flipped her over and slipped inside her. She stopped me halfway in and I tried to comply but _Merlin_ she felt so good. "Are you alright, mother?" I nuzzled her chin. My body's every urge was to take…

She kissed me. "Quite." She spoke into my mouth. "But you are...gifted...in certain departments, and you need to be easy at first. There will be plenty of time to fuck me properly."

Well. That made my head swell a bit...both heads. Can't have been comfortable for her. But she pulled me closer to her just the same, further inside her. Every slow, deepening inch was a descent into bliss - or hell. Whichever. And gods above she was "Fucking tight," I groaned.

I ground against her slowly. Tried to ignore the tightening coil of her around me and lust inside me. Tried to make myself last.

"That's it, my dragon! Just like that!"

Hard to try anything with hot witch breath depositing words like _that_ in your ear. I was beyond pleased when she pushed the pace. Met and encouraged faster thrusts. Deeper thrusts. I shifted her leg up a bit and felt the angle point me toward oblivion. Held her so close… "I can't hold off," I rasped.

Her embrace and her kiss forgave me. "Let go, darling."

If a witch's orgasm is a wonder to behold, a wizard's is surely a blunder. I can only imagine my face matched the sound that emerged from my throat: guttural, animal, cave-dwelling dragon growling.

But however cro-magnon my face may have been, I managed to bring my mother to one more stunning orgasm herself. So. Accomplished. And just in time. My arms were shaking uncontrollably. I'd braced myself over her for too long. Had to collapse. She made no complaint, and I hugged her closer. She quivered around my softening cock. Crazy. "I can still feel you," I murmured.

In answer, she squeezed those muscles purposefully. Talented. "I can still feel you as well, darling."

I groaned as I pulled out and rolled away. Needed air. I imagine she did, too. I was exhausted, yes, but couldn't control the satisfied grin on my face. "That was bloody brilliant." Seems a good shag makes one embarrassingly honest.

Her own smile was small. She looked almost wistful. "I shouldn't have run away. It was quite childish of me."

"You were ridiculous in the greenhouse." But adorable.

She rolled her eyes. Sat up against the massive headboard. "Well, what did you expect from me? I'd been caught by my own son, having a look at his…" An amorphous gesture.

"...wand?" I offered helpfully.

She tisked. Chuffed a light laugh and blushed. "Well...I suppose it was quite magical."

I snorted and sat up beside her. A comfortable silence settled. I touched a tangle of her shag-styled hair. It was pretty. Now that I'd caught my breath, I realized we both smelled blatantly of sex. Not a bad smell, but I knew my mum. "I suspect you'll be wanting another bath."

She cut her lovely eyes at me. "I suppose."

"I'll leave you in peace, then." I promised.

She grinned as she rolled from the bed. Stretched. Gods she had a great body for her age. And for having me. A coy glance over a bare shoulder. "You can join me," she said. "Oh!" Mock recollection. "I forget you don't care for baths." She made her way toward the lavatory.

I watched her hips sway for about two seconds before I was scrambling to follow. "Actually, mum, I think I'm discovering the appeal."

She held her out to me. "I am fairly certain you shall discover much more, my dragon."

Entering her bath hand in hand, I was inclined to agree.

**AN: **This piece is the companion piece to the wonderful Narcissa's Dragon's aptly titled "Narcissa Comes Clean." Check it out on her profile! We had an epic experiment in switching our usual character perspectives and are pretty darn chuffed with our results. So read, review and let us know what you think.


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